It Was the Rum
by ElvenPirate
Summary: JackElizabeth: A rewrite of that night on the beach. Am planning to make it a longer story. Please R&R!


Alright first story I've posted on here!  
  
Welly, well, well, let's see. I started this one because Jack and Elizabeth were nagging me day and night for a fluffy, romancy fic. The nerve, eh?! They'd throw these ideas at me as I was trying to get to sleep and I'd have to find a pen and paper to write 'em down before I forgot them. Sheesh. :P  
  
Now, yes, I *am* starting this with a rewrite of that beach scene, and gah, I can hear the groans already! :P But really, give this a chance...please? I promise it'll be more than just the same ol' rewrite scenario. I know there are more Jack/Liz fans out there! ^__~ *ehem* So yes, here you have it. I'll stop blabbing now. Honest.  
  
DISCLAIMER: Do I own any of this? Hum. Well I *did* ask Disney if I could have PotC, and very nicely, I might add, but they called me insane and sent a buncha guys in white suits after me. Don't believe me? Pfft, well fine. But yeh, all characters/places/etc belong to the Mouse. *le sigh* *TEXT* denotes things that SHOULD be in Italics.*mumbles*  
  
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The sky was dark but for the twinkling of the stars that peeked out from under its nearly black canvas, winking down at the island below. There were many of them, bright little pinpricks strewn over a sea of black, their light reflecting off of the ocean that surrounded the spit of land. That spit of land was usually deserted but for the rare occasion when a lost ship or a vessel in need of recovery after a battle berthed there.  
  
Or, in this case, when an infamous pirate captain and an English girl were marooned there by a mutinous blackguard who had stolen said pirate captain's ship. For the second time.  
  
"Mister Sparrow!" Elizabeth began indignantly, swaying despite the fact that she was indeed sitting on the sand. "I'm not entirely sure I've had enough...rum to allow that kind of talk."  
  
*That's it, she thought. He's had to have had more than even 'Captain Jack Sparrow' can handle by now.*  
  
Her object: to get him to consume enough rum for him to finally pass out. Her motive: she had formed a plan. A plan that would require the captain to be either asleep or passed out for it to happen. She would burn the remaining bottles, kegs, bloody *boxes* of that damned rum and make a signal that would hopefully attract the Dauntless to the island.  
  
"I know exactly what ye mean, luv," he concurred, slurring the words as he spoke them. Elizabeth watched as he rather exaggeratedly curled the edges of his mustache back up, then grasped a hold on his bottle. Her mind paused in its usual work as she followed his movement with her eyes. So graceful, so catlike, even when he wasn't drunk. She mentally slapped herself for being distracted, giving her head a nearly indecipherable shake.  
  
"To freedom," she said, raising her bottle of rum, the one she had been daintily sipping all night lest Jack should suspect something.  
  
"To the Black Pearl," the pirate answered. He toasted her bottle with his own, and downed the entire thing in one gulp, slowly falling to a lying position on the sandy beach. Elizabeth held her breath for a few moments. Silence.  
  
"Finally..." she breathed. Just as she was about to get up, the captain stirred and lifted himself back up into a seating position, the now empty bottle clutched in his hand. She gasped in surprise.  
  
"Now then," he spoke cheerily. "How's about I tell ye the story o' that time when --"  
  
"For Chrissake, Jack!"  
  
"Captain."  
  
"How many bloody bottles of rum have you consumed already?!"  
  
"...I've lost count, luv."  
  
"Then why aren't you..." she made an extravagant motion with her hands as she tried to find the right wording, "...passed out?" He only grinned back at her in that annoying way he had, and she rolled her eyes in exasperation. Damn it. This was going to be harder than she thought.  
  
Ah, and she thought she'd had him! He grinned at the frustration in her eyes, following the movement of her arms. Jack then noticed something on her left hand. In the flickering light of the nearby fire, he could somewhat make out what it was: a gash.  
  
"Let me see that, luv." She followed his line of vision and hesitated a few seconds before extending her hand to him, the expression on her face instantly growing sober. He took it in between his own, furrowing his brows as he examined the cut.  
  
Elizabeth resisted the urge to squirm uncomfortably under his gaze, letting her eyes rest on Jack's facial features, now masked with a deep concentration. His touch was gentle and sent pleasant, little nerve signals throughout her entire body. She closed her eyes, trying to ward off the slight burning that she was beginning to feel in her gut.  
  
*Why am I feeling this way? * she thought. *It's not like I find him...attractive or anything.*  
  
...  
  
*I don't!*  
  
Her eyes shot back open as his fingertips grazed a particularly tender spot on the cut, applying just a tad too much pressure for her liking. She drew her hand back a bit, letting out a soft whimper of discomfort.  
  
"Sorry, pet," he apologized. Elizabeth nodded and allowed him to take her hand in between his again. "Luv, did ye have this cut looked at 'fore now?"  
  
"I..." She was surprised to find that the words just wouldn't come out. God, what was this man doing to her? "Will bandaged it before, but that's it."  
  
"The whelp needs to be taught a thing or two 'bout cuts, then," he replied after giving a soft snort. She suddenly became rather irritated. What right had he to criticize Will in any way, shape or form?  
  
"Well he didn't exactly have much to work with," she huffed defensively. The pirate only cracked a lazy smile, getting swiftly to his feet. A pitiful sound emanated from her lips as soon as his hands let go of her. She cursed herself and the way her body was reacting. She had never felt anything like this before. Thankfully, either the pirate didn't notice or he chose not to acknowledge it, for he simply strode away into the palm trees a little further off.  
  
*All right, Liz, calm down,* she thought to herself. The man had hardly touched her, and yet she found herself utterly breathless. How was he having this great of an effect on her? Perhaps it was just the rum...no. Elizabeth may have been virgin and innocent, hell, the greatest intimacy she had ever had with anyone was a mere kiss or two, but she was not entirely naive. She knew it was not the rum.  
  
*Think of Will.*  
  
*Think. Of. Will.*  
  
She bit her lower lip and found her heartbeat quickening as she spied Jack emerging from the trees. He swaggered over to where she was still sitting and knelt wordlessly beside her. In his hand, he held an herb of some sort, the smell of which had Elizabeth wrinkling her nose in displeasure. He only smirked at her reaction.  
  
"Aye, it doesn't smell too nice now, does it? But, when combined with the right things," he said, taking her rum bottle from its spot on the sand, "it'll work wonders on cuts like these."  
  
She nodded in a gesture of silent understanding, quietly steeling herself for his hands upon her skin once more. Unbeknownst to her, Jack was picking up on all of this, inwardly grinning as his ego swelled to a size even greater than it already was: a possibly dangerous thing, indeed.  
  
He took the herb and dipped it into the bottle, grasping it by the edges so as to submerge as much as possible into the amber brown liquid. After letting it soak for a few minutes, he retrieved the plant from its alcoholic surroundings and gently placed it over Elizabeth's hand, covering the wound completely.  
  
"Oh!" she exclaimed as a sudden rush of pain came over her. On impulse, she made to withdraw her hand, now seemingly on fire with pain, but Jack held it firmly in between his own, rubbing soothing circles into her skin with his thumbs.  
  
"The pain'll start to fade away after a while," he explained apologetically. Elizabeth nodded, eyes shut tightly, though the burning sensation was indeed beginning to fade a little.  
  
"How is rum going to help the cut?" she inquired skeptically through gritted teeth.  
  
"You're jus' goin' to have to trust me, luv."  
  
Not knowing exactly what to say to that, she looked up from her hand and found herself staring straight into his brandy-brown eyes. Something inside of her fluttered, like a caged butterfly, and she quickly lowered her gaze again, almost as if she were afraid of the feeling.  
  
"I do," she said softly.  
  
"What was that?" Jack paused in his work to look at her.  
  
"I...I trust you."  
  
He tilted his head back so that he was looking down the straight ridge of his nose at her, a quizzical look in his eye. Had he just heard right? Elizabeth merely stared back at him, nonplussed. Moments passed, and neither uttered a word. She became entranced by the dark mysteriousness of his eyes, and her lips parted in a sigh that even she could not hear, so soft and gentle was her breath as it passed her lips.  
  
Jack, in turn, watched contemplatively as a sort of silent wonderment shimmered in the brown of Elizabeth's gaze. The fire created ethereal reflections in her eyes, ones that danced and swayed to a complicated melody, inaudible to his ears. She was attractive, no doubt about that; some would even call her beautiful. The thought of making her another one of his conquests had nonchalantly crossed his mind before. However, he had pretty much given up that idea after being subject to that fiery temper of hers, as well as the fact that she was indeed with the whelp. He smiled in remembrance of that day at the docks, the day he rescued her.  
  
*[Flashback]*  
  
"You're despicable." The distaste was clearly decipherable from her tone, and it was as if the word 'loathe' had been etched into the features on her face. He gave her a cocky look, the one that he usually used when he wanted to severely annoy people, and shrugged.  
  
"Stick an' stones, luv. I saved your life, you save mine. We're square."  
  
*[/Flashback]*  
  
Elizabeth felt herself flush as a slow smile crept across Jack's lips. Was he laughing at her? She lowered her eyes and began to awkwardly shift her hand within his grasp, suddenly feeling very ashamed and silly.  
  
*Oh, by Atlantis,* Jack thought, inhaling sharply as he observed the red tinting the flesh on her cheeks, down to her neck, and advancing so low as the delicate swells of her breasts, the tops of which were just barely visible from above her scanty dress. Almost instantaneously, Jack's breeches felt just a little too tight for his comfort. Some might call it a fetish, others could choose a different way of wording it, but the fact remained: the sight of a woman blushing that deep reddish hue that embodied innocence, was one of the things -- if not the thing -- that could arouse Jack most.  
  
The rational part of his mind, the part that his damned conscience (very unpirate-like, you know) still had somewhat of a hold over, urged him to get away before he did something that he'd undoubtedly regret later on. And he was going to, he really was, had Elizabeth's eyes not flicked back up and their gazes met for just a split second.  
  
To hell with consequences. 


End file.
